


Trust

by Aria_Lerendeair



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, John Has Trust Issues, Johnlock get-together, M/M, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Lerendeair/pseuds/Aria_Lerendeair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John dismissed the fact that Sherlock said he had almost contacted him a hundred times...Until he had proof of it at his fingertips.  That proof led to the question that had been eating at him since Sherlock's return.  Why had Sherlock trusted everyone...but him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> The lid on the tin really says it all. There are spoilers for Season Three, so I will say that, but I figure, after reading the summary, you've figured that out already. 
> 
> I loved and hated the idea that Sherlock tried to reach out to John and never did. But then I thought...what if John found proof? Concrete, irrefutable proof? How would he react? Would it bleed into the bigger question of trust between the two of them? 
> 
> Turns out that yes, the fic did lead to all of those things. And I had a lot of fun writing this out, I hope that you enjoy this as well!
> 
> Now also translated into Russian by the very, very lovely wishyouwerehere, can be found: http://ficbook.net/readfic/1546853
> 
> Also translated into Chinese (I'm assuming Mandarin, I am not certain) by the lovely Kinara, can be found: www.mtslash.com (Log in required)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
John settled into his chair and closed his eyes.  Sherlock had been mumbling to himself for the better part of an hour, thankfully not requiring a response.  He glanced at the detective again and felt his lips curl in a small smile.  Sherlock.  Perched awkwardly in his chair.  Not a sight he had thought he would see again.    
  
  
“John!”  Sherlock snapped.  

 

He was bolt upright and out of the chair in a moment.  He glared at Sherlock and huffed.  “Yes Sherlock?”    
  
  
“My phone.  Kitchen table.  Don’t touch anything else.  I need you to read me the message I was just sent.”

 

John sighed and walked over to the kitchen table, glancing around for Sherlock’s phone.  “Remind me why you can’t get your own bloody phone?”  He spied it sticking up from under a folder.    
  
  
“You were getting up anyway.”  

 

John frowned.  “No I wasn’t.”  

 

“Yes you were.”  

 

“No, I was not.”  

 

Sherlock pointed to the mug on the table beside John’s chair.  “Empty tea mug.  In approximately four minutes you would have noticed and gone to put the kettle on.”  

 

Against his will, his lips curled in a smile.  A good point.  He did need to put the kettle on.  He moved towards the stove-

 

“John!”

 

“Ah, right, give me a bloody minute!” John grumbled.  Grabbing the phone, he typed in the familiar password; 5-6-4-6 and opened the latest message.    
  
“What does it say?”  Sherlock asked, tilting his head towards where he could hear John in the kitchen.    
  
  
“The dog has been left in the kennel.  Sherlock, what the hell does that mean?”  John exited out of the message and glanced down at the phone again.  He froze and stared.

 

“Exactly what it says.  There is no additional terrorist threat.  Excellent.  I am certain Mycroft will be thrilled.”  No response from John.  Sherlock frowned and opened an eye, seeking out the sight of John in the kitchen.  Breathing pattern irregular.  Tension obvious in shoulders and hands.  Face frozen, attempt at containing extreme emotion.  Eyes have not left-ah.  His phone.  

 

“Sherlock…”  John hated how his voice shook, but he stared at the words on the screen.  Drafts (247)  Without his conscious decision, he had pressed the word on the screen to open the folder.  Messages, all addressed to him.  None sent.  
  
  
He scrolled down and opened one dated a week before Sherlock had reappeared.  ‘I’m coming home John.  Do buy some milk.’  A choked sob escaped him.  

 

He went further down the list.  They were all to him.  All of them.  He opened another.  ‘I should have brought you with me.  It is difficult to treat wounds on my back without assistance.’ The sight of the phone blurred and John blinked his eyes rapidly.  “You…damnit Sherlock.”  

 

Sherlock stood up from the couch.  “I told you I had thought about contacting you a hundred times.  An inaccurate number.  There are two-hundred and forty-seven unsent text messages.  A more accurate calculation would include the drafts folder in my email.”  

 

John scrolled to the very first message in the folder.  The date was the day they had buried Sherlock.  The day he’d stood at a tombstone and begged for a miracle.  

 

“John-”

 

“Shut up.”  John said.  He opened the message and stared at it.  ‘John.  Come with me.’  He closed the folder and clenched his hand around Sherlock’s phone before placing it back on the table.  “Just shut up.”  

 

“Did you think I lied about-”

 

“Why not?”  John said, spinning to face Sherlock.  “You lied about everything else!  About being unable to diffuse a bomb-”

 

“You’d refused to talk to me, how else was I supposed to get you to speak!”

 

“I was the only one who didn’t know Sherlock!  You couldn’t trust me enough to tell me?”  John shouted.  “You could trust everyone else, your parents, Molly, Mycroft, twenty-five random homeless people, but not me!  You wouldn’t trust me!”    
  
  
Sherlock stared at John.  John.  John.  This was not how it should have gone.  Not how it was supposed to go.  “John-”

 

“No, I don’t want to hear it!”  John pressed his hands to his face and sighed, the anger bleeding out of him.  He picked up his jacket from the back of his chair and slipped it on.  “I’m going home.  I’ll-”

 

“John, John, wait.  Wait.  You don’t understand.”  Stop him.  Make him understand.  John.  He must understand.    
  
  
John laughed, keeping his back to Sherlock.  No need to see another Oscar-worthy performance.  “No, I think for the first time I understand perfectly.  I’m a friend when it is convenient.  I’m not trustworthy, no matter how much we worked together.  At least it was the truth this time.”  

 

Sherlock watched John move towards the doorknob, hand outstretched.  Must stop him.  Stop him or lose him again!  “I hear you in my head!”    
  
“What?”  John turned to look at Sherlock, only to see him pace angrily across the room.  

 

“You mock me, criticize me.  You’re there, always.  I hear you, everywhere I go.  Everywhere.  It’s, you aren’t there, it’s just your voice, it’s always your voice and-”

 

John sighed.  “Sherlock, what are you talking about?”  

 

Sherlock pushed his fingers into his hair and tugged angrily.  Must explain or John will leave.  Must.  How?  How was he supposed to convince John when he would not SEE?  

 

“Sherlock-”

 

“No, just, just wait.  John.”  Sherlock looked up at John and let his hands drop to his sides.  John would not believe.  Not after the train.  Must be a way.  

 

“I’m going home Sherlock.  I’ll, I’ll see you around.”  John turned away from Sherlock again and walked out the door.  He didn’t bother shutting it behind him.  Sherlock would.  Eventually.  

 

Twelve seconds from top of stairs to front door.  Halfway downstairs.  Nine seconds.  Sherlock leapt towards the door.  Three second pause at front door to confirm keys, wallet and phone are all in appropriate pockets.  He ripped his phone out of his pocket.  

 

“John.  Come with me.”  Sherlock watched as John froze, the front door already open, the noise of Baker street flooding into the foyer.  “John, I wish you could have come with me.”  He flipped to the next message, staring at John’s shoulders.  “I’ll get you your miracle John.  I promise.”  And the next.  “I must keep you safe John.  Nonetheless, I wish you were here.”  And another.  “John.”  And another.  “John, I am sorry.”  John was facing him now, staring at him.  Sherlock  held the phone out.  

 

“Sherlock.  Why didn’t you trust me?”  

 

Sherlock walked down the last of the stairs, standing at their base, staring at John.  “I did.”  

 

John sighed again and shut the front door, turning to face Sherlock.  “What?”  

 

“I trusted you the most.”  

 

“You trusted…”  John sighed.  “Sherlock.  I thought you were dead for two years!  How is that trusting me?!”  

 

“I trusted you to move on.  To move past me.”  Sherlock moved closer.  “You thought you needed me.  You don’t.  You never needed me John.  I had to trust that you would remember that.”  

 

“Sherlock, that is the biggest load of bollocks I have ever-”

 

“Think!  For once in your life think!”  Sherlock said, glaring at John.  “Molly, Mycroft, my parents, they were all stuck!  All of them!  In the same world I left them!  But you!  You moved on!”  

 

John blinked in confusion.  “What does that have to do with trusting me?”

 

“Everything!  You realized you didn’t need me!  That there was another part of your life waiting!  You moved on from me!  I had to trust that you would be able to do that!  That you wouldn’t end up where you were when we met.”  Sherlock froze.  

 

John narrowed his eyes.  “Which was where, Sherlock?”  

 

“Casually contemplating the idea of suicide after you had been honorably discharged from army service.”  

 

“Then why did you come back?”  John asked, sighing again as he stared at the detective.  “If I was the only one who could move on, the one you trusted to move on, why did you come back?  Why did you find me again?”  

 

Sherlock closed his eyes.  Answer him.  Answer him.  Must answer him.  Answer him.  Must answer.  Tell him.  Tell him.  “I was selfish.  I couldn’t let you go.”  

 

John fell back against the door and huffed out a laugh.  “Ha, ha.  Very funny.  Well done.  I’m done being played like a fiddle.  I’m not making any faces for you to laugh at this time.”  

“No.”  In another instant, Sherlock had his hands at John’s shoulders and had him pressed back against the wall.  He stared at the ground.  Impossible to look at John.  John.  “I hear you mock me when I deduce things.  You accuse me of showing off.  Of being the insufferable bastard I know I am.”  

 

“Pretty sure that I’ve never outright mocked you for your deductions.  Well.  Not out loud anyway.”  John said.  Sherlock still refused to look at him, head bowed.  

 

Sherlock huffed out a laugh, shutting his eyes.  “John.  I couldn’t let you leave me behind.  I need you.  I want you.”  He tightened his hold on John’s shoulders.  “I want you here.  In Baker Street.  With me.  Only me.”  Silence.  Nothing else.  There was nothing else.  John would leave.  He deserved nothing else.

 

John sighed and let his head fall back against the door and stared at the ceiling.  “Mary broke off the engagement today.”  He felt Sherlock’s head snap up, felt that LOOK on him.  

 

“What?”  

 

“Mary.  She ended the engagement today.  Told me that she refused to steal me from you.  Because you needed me far more than she ever could.”  John closed his eyes.  “Do you Sherlock?”  

 

Sherlock stared at John, waiting.  Ten seconds.  Twelve.  Fifteen.  Nineteen.  John.  John.  See.  Observe me.  John.  Please.  John looked.  At last.  “Yes.”

 

John smiled and shook his head, reaching up to push at Sherlock’s arms, where they held him pinned.  “Let me up.”  

 

“But…”  Sherlock continued, refusing to move.  He stared intently at John.  John.  Would John run?  Leave?  “Understand what I want John.”  Sherlock leaned in closer, until they were sharing the same air.  Small puffs between their lips.  John’s reaction.  Eyes wide.  Shock, surprise.  No revulsion.  No refusal.  “You.”  Immediate dilation of pupils.  Shortness of breath.  Arousal.  He pulled away with a smirk and walked to the stairs.  “Come along John!”  

John watched Sherlock dash up the stairs, two at a time as always.  He grinned and let his head fall back against the front door.  Mrs. Hudson was never going to let him live this down.  

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hate it? Love it? Did I have someone remove their shirt twice? Let me know!
> 
> Comments and Criticisms welcome!
> 
> You can find me here: http://aria-lerendeair.tumblr.com/
> 
> You can also watch me write fics like this (and dozens of others) live! Follow me on Livestream for fics, shenanigans and a general all-around awesome time! http://new.livestream.com/accounts/7212317

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Trust [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549703) by [litrapod (litra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litrapod)




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